Pluie Basier
by Ambrosia2
Summary: She reached her hand up and touched my face. I had expected to feel the searing cold I had felt last time, but all I felt was a little warmth, and her smooth, wet fingertips on my skin.


Pluie Basier  
  
Disclaimer-I do not own any part of Harry Potter. I wish I did, but *sigh* I don't.  
  
Feedback-Please! I'm begging you! Please Review! You'll find this a very easy process. Just click the button at the bottom left hand side of the page.  
  
Summery- Draco reminisces about his romance with Hermione.  
  
Rating-PG-13  
  
Pairing-Draco/Hermione  
  
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She always had that hollow look in her eyes when she looked at me. I never understood it. How could someone as warm as Hermione Granger look at me with such a pure, chilling distaste? I'll never forget the first time we touched. It was during our first year. It isn't a fond memory, or one of love reaching out. The first time she touched was when she slapped me that day when I had pushed her too far.  
  
My face stung from where her hand had been. Her soft, cold, marble like fingers left searing trails along me left cheek, turning red quickly. Even to this day, 6 years afterward, I can still feel the cold, burning sensation of her hand on my face. She had always seemed so gentle to me. Her skin seemed so smooth, and I was afraid that if I touched her she might break. So I hurt her with words. I wanted her to suffer so much back then. I was always confused about my emotions when I was around her. Why did my stomach become uneasy and my hands start to tingle? Back then I thought it was because I thought I hated her so much. Now I realize it was because I love her.  
  
At first I dismissed this notion with a feverish passion. How could I, a proud, pure-blooded Slytherin, love someone like Hermione? She was too noble, too sensitive, and too righteous. Even if I looked past the fact that she was a mudblood, a word which stung in my mouth and made me cringe every time I said it to her, or a Gryfindor, or a friend of Harry Potter, there were still too many reasons that I could never love a person like her. I could never love her because she would never love me. She was far too good for me, I realized early on, and I was sure she knew that too.  
  
My mind and my heart rarely ever agree, I realized very quickly. Even though I had rationalized that things would never work out for us, I started making changes in my life. They were small at first, but eventually people started to notice. Except for her. For an entire year I never called her mudblood. I never started fights with her and her friends. I don't think she noticed either when I started calling her Hermione, instead of Granger. I never realized before how addicting it was to say her name. I loved how her name rose up gently from my throat, and rolled across my tongue, and spilt from my lips smoothly. "Hermione".  
  
Potter and Weasley noticed first. They tried to keep her away from me even more. I think they had it figured out at one time when I left the great hall after dinner, so that they could come down then and keep her out of my sights. But I was too smart for them. I noticed their games early on and perfected what they had begun. I reversed the rules, made their twisted little game my own. At first they though it was coincidence when we showed up for breakfast at the same time, so that we had to walk through the large door together and I could stand next to her for a very brief few seconds. But it was good enough for me.  
  
I had always loved potions. I loved watching the colorful fumes rising from our simmering cauldrons, and the tiny popping sounds of boiling potions. I loved watching her most of all. I loved how before class every day she would tie her hair back behind her neck so professionally so that it would never fall into her cauldron. I loved the look of concentration as she read the texts assigned to us over and over before she very carefully followed each direction to precise detail. I loved the small beads of sweat that formed above her brow as she stood over her hot, boiling potion, making sure it was the exact shade it should be, or that she had added enough crushed ophsorious.  
  
It was an entire year after I realized I loved her that I told her so. It was around the middle of October, a day I remember very clearly. It had been raining lightly for almost a week, but it was the first time it actually poured down in all its glory. I had been outside by the lake, lying on one of the branches of a huge magnolia tree. The rain came very suddenly, pelting down onto the grounds with a fury. I of course was still quite dry, hardly being reached at all by the rain from under so many layers of leaves and branches. And that was when I saw her, and knew that I had to tell her.  
  
She was standing beside the lake in the middle of the rain, her face looking up into the sky, her arms lifted up, feeling the rain drops on her finger tips. Her eyes were closed, a small smile playing on the corners of her mouth. I climbed down from my dry place of protection and called out to her. Through all the wind and rain it didn't come as a surprise to me when she didn't hear.  
  
I had walk right up behind her and whisper her name in her ear before she finally turned around and looked at me. My face had a look of calm that my heart certainly wasn't feeling. She was smiling broadly, the emptiness in her eyes gone, replaced my happiness. I smiled back at her gently, pushing a loose wet curl behind her ear. She seemed surprised by my tenderness, and more than a little taken aback. She reached her hand up and touched my face. I had expected to feel the searing cold I had felt last time, but all I felt was a little warmth, and her smooth, wet fingertips on my skin. She traced the path of a drop of water that had flowed smoothly down my cheek, and then ran her finger over my lower lip, pausing for a moment, smiling.  
  
As if surprised by her own actions, she immediately pulled her hand back, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. I admit that mine to seared red with joy, but were cooled by the falling rain. A connection of mutual understanding seemed to pass wordlessly between us, though neither of us had moved. I held her cheek in my hand, looking down at her contentedly with all my love in my eyes. She must have sensed this.  
  
She stood on the tips of her toes, looking at me expectantly, her eye lids lowered. My lips softly brushed against hers, a shiver running up my spine. I lowered my head to hers and kissed her gently, with such a tenderness I never even knew existed within me. Her arms circled around my neck and pulled me closer to her. I felt her shiver in the coldness of the rain and pulled her body against mine, trying to warm her while at the same time enjoying the closeness. My other hand circled around her waste. I pulled apart from her sooner than she seemed to have expected. I looked at her very seriously, trying to see into her soul and know whether she loved me too. I saw her smile and nod her head slightly, as though she had understood my uncertainty.  
  
A new passion burned within me as I gained courage to explore her further. I left a trail of kisses along her jaw bone, and then kissed her heatedly again. Her lips parted slightly, and I could see her eyes almost pleading with me to go further. I teased her with my tongue, flickering it across her lips lightly at first, but soon I couldn't keep from claiming her mouth. We seemed to melt into each other, the point where I stopped and she began unknown to us during our frenzied kisses in the rain.  
  
We both knew that things would never be the same, but we didn't want it to be. It seemed that know one accepted us in the beginning, some skeptical and questioning about our romance that seemed as sudden as the rain, while others were shocked and angry. But we found solace in each other, during the times when it seemed the whole world was against us.  
  
She always looks at me with such love in her eyes now. I can't understand how I could have ever hated her. How was it possible that I made her cry? Now, at the end of our 6th year, people accept us for who we are. They accept that I love her, and that she loves me, even if they don't understand it. I don't even understand it. How is it possible for a pureblooded Slytherin and muggle-born Gryfindor to fall in love? I don't know. But when it rains, I stop and smile, and think "Why not?"  
  
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A/N-Well, that was it. Please tell me what you think. Was it terrible? Should I write more stories like this? Should I never ever write in first person from Dracos POV again? I DON'T KNOW! Please Review. Im begging you.For the sake of all that's Holy please tell me if I'm doing okay, that the story was good, or that you think I'm a dreadfull wirter and should burn all my pens and paper. Whatever you want. Also, if you tell me your favorite couple, I might just write a story about them and dedicate it to you! 


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